


Shadowed Contemplations

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Angst, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:59:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: He sees her from the shadows when nobody else does, and the feelings inside of him are wrong but he is helpless to do anything about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous Tumblr prompt which requested something set in a modern-day theatre with Erik as a background worker and Christine in the ensemble. I tweaked things a little bit in this.

His feelings are inappropriate, downright _unseemly_ in fact. A man of his years, to have such sentiment inside of him for—for _her_? He would go so far as to say that it is disgusting, very nearly _offensive_ that he feels such things. Not the fact that he _can_ feel such things, he is only moderately surprised over that, but that he feels them for someone like her, someone so untainted by the true horrors of the world.

(Untainted no more, he thinks, a note of bitterness rising in his chest. Of course she is tainted, her perfection poisoned, by his very gaze falling upon her.)

It would horrify her if she knew, and he would not blame her, could not _possibly_ blame her. It is only natural that she would feel that way.

The feelings harboured deep inside his chest, on the other hand, are anything _but_ natural.

She is his secret, his treasure. Not that he has kept her that way, no. They simply have not noticed her, have not noticed her voice or the loneliness in her eyes. She is invisible to them all, the ensemble, the directors, the audience, even. Perfectly invisible, perfectly hidden even though she is in plain sight of them.

(It was her voice that he noticed first, heard her singing to herself while playing some mindless game on her phone. The way it stirred his heart, the _ache_ that pierced deep into his chest—He almost fell from his hiding place in the desperation to see her, to assure himself that he was not so far gone as to be hallucinating angels.)

He might record her sometime, play it over the intercom for the managers some night, her sweet voice trembling through the still air. He has contemplated it, but the recording would tarnish the purity of her voice and besides, they would not appreciate her, not as she is. Her voice needs polishing, honing, and neither of them would see that.

He _could_ give the order to have her elevated in the company, to have her made the lead. He is the owner, after all. They _must_ respect his instructions, but it would be wrong of him to do so. She is not ready for it. They would make a mockery of her. It would _spoil her voice_.

(He tells himself these things, to keep the impulse in check. But oh, they would all fall at her feet if they heard her, truly heard her, just once.)

How his fingers ache to touch her, to brush against the back of her hand—His throat dries at the thought, a tremble running down his spine. No, _no_. He must control himself, must keep these feelings under control.

Whatever he thinks of her, it is a _tragedy_ that her voice should be wasted like this, should be condemned to languish in the ensemble, never centre stage, never applauded for its beauty. It is a _crime_ , very nearly as bad as any he’s committed (he’ll grant that that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands). It is his _duty_ to do something about it. He is honour-bound – now that he knows the beauty she hides – to ensure she gets her due. And he nods resolutely, eyes trailing over the curl of her hair as she looks into her phone, and begins to sing.


End file.
